“Good,” she replied, walking to her desk and dropping her bag onto it with a thud.
“He’s looking for you,” said Ellen, over her shoulder, typing at the same time. “You said you’d be back by one.”
Keeley rolled her eyes, flicking on her computer. “Is he on the warpath?”
Ellen shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe. You should probably stick your head around the door and check in, at least.”
Keeley stood up, approaching the editor’s office. She braced herself, then knocked softly. As soon as she heard his voice she opened it and stepped inside.
Dean didn’t raise his eyes from his computer screen. “You’re late,” he said crisply. “The Marr ranch isn’t that far away. Where did you detour to this time?”
Keeley sighed, sitting down in the chair opposite. “I got the story, Dean. Isn’t that all that matters?” She paused. “As much of a story as I could. I don’t think the saga of the Marr’s new saffron growing business is going to make the front page.”
Dean looked at her for the first time, taking his horn-rimmed glasses off and wiping his eyes. Keeley stared at him. Dean Maclaren was starting to look old. She could see wings of silver in his dark hair that hadn’t been there a few months ago. Well, she supposed that once you turned fifty stuff like that started to happen.
He had been with the Magnet for over two years now, and had done a great job as editor, revitalising the newspaper. But it always made Keeley sad to see him sitting across that desk. She couldn’t help thinking that if her father had stayed himself, he would be sitting there. She felt her throat tighten at the thought. He should be sitting there. Daddy had been a skilled reporter, and her mother had told her in the years since that he had been offered the position of editor in the week before it had happened.
“No, it won’t make front-page news,” said Dean slowly, putting his glasses back on. “But it is a good human interest piece. Everyone in the town will love to hear how the Marr’s have turned their rundown land around and found a new crop to harvest and sell. Everyone loves a good luck story, Keeley.”
Keeley sighed. “Yes, yes, I know all that,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “And I’m going to write a damn good story about it, don’t worry. I took detailed notes. I know more about the saffron plant than I ever hoped to know, and then some.”
Dean smiled slightly. “Well done,” he said drily. “I’m sure you’ll walk away with a Pulitzer for it.” He paused. “So why are you back so late?”
Keeley coloured slightly. “I introduced myself to the man who is living in that cabin near the lake,” she said. “Seeing as I was in the area, I thought it would be a neighbourly thing to do.”
Dean raised his eyebrows. “The guy who lost his friends in a city fire?”
Keeley nodded. “Yeah. He’s an odd one.” She paused, thinking of Thad. “Doesn’t talk much, that’s for sure. He didn’t look happy that I had invaded his privacy, but at least I tried.”
Dean stared at her. “Come on, Keeley,” he said. “I know you. What was the real reason you went out to talk to the guy?”
Keeley blinked rapidly. “I told you,” she said, staring at a spot on the wall behind his head. “No reason apart from wanting to be neighbourly.”
Dean kept staring at her.
“Okay, okay!” she burst out, frowning slightly. “I was told he used to be a translator or something. An expert in old languages. I thought I would show him the book and see if he might recognise the language.”
Dean sighed, pressing his fingers tightly into the bridge of his nose. He squeezed his eyes shut a moment, as if trying to gather strength. Then he opened them and gazed at her.
“Keeley,” he began. “This isn’t good for you. You have to let it go.”
She tightened her lips. “There’s no harm in investigating,” she said through clenched teeth. “I’m a reporter. That’s what I do. This is just a personal side project.”
“That you do on the newspaper’s time,” said Dean slowly. “Don’t think I haven’t seen you on your computer looking at languages when you should be writing your articles.” He took a deep breath. “And besides that, it just isn’t good for you. You are obsessed.”
Keeley’s eyes flashed. “You would be too if your father mysteriously changed out of the blue like that. I have to find out what happened to make him the way that he is.”
Dean leaned back in his chair, staring at her. “Your father had a stroke, Keeley. You know that. It’s sad, but it happens in life. Getting obsessed with this book that he happened to have in his possession at the time won’t change anything.”
Keeley’s jaw tightened. “It’s not just the book,” she said. “I’ve found other stuff. Research notes he had written. The book was a part of an investigation he was doing.”
Dean sighed again. “Which we have discussed before,” he said. “I talked to Harry, the editor at the time, on your insistence. It wasn’t a Magnet story. Whatever your father was investigating that involved this book he was doing on his own. It wasn’t authorised by the paper.”
Keeley’s eyes hardened. Yes, she knew that Harry Gibbs, the former editor, had claimed that he had no knowledge of what her father was working on at the time. But she had always thought that perhaps he was lying. Perhaps the story had been so big or so dangerous that Harry had gotten scared after what had happened to Gil Walters.
“There’s no huge cover-up, Keeley,” said Dean, as if he had read her mind. “This is Coyote River, for God’s sake! Population five hundred. Mostly farmers and families who have lived here for generations. The most that happens is neighbours disputing boundary lines on their properties. Your dad wasn’t working on an exposé that got him shafted.” He took a deep breath. “This isn’t Covenester.”
Keeley’s face darkened. “I need to know,” she said stubbornly. “I know there is a connection between that book and what happened.” She stood up abruptly. “But you don’t need to worry. I won’t be doing anything more on the newspaper’s time. And Thad Morgan was no help, anyway. He had no idea what the language was.”
Dean stared up at her. “Well, that’s good to hear at least,” he said. “I worry about you, Keeley. It’s not good to get obsessed like this, especially about something you can’t change. Even if there was a connection between that book and your father’s illness, it won’t bring back the man that you loved.”
Keeley felt tears spring behind her eyes suddenly.
“I remember him, you know,” said Dean softly. “The way that he was. Gil Walters. We were friends at school. He was a man of integrity, Keeley.”
“He’s still a man of integrity,” Keeley replied. “My dad is still in there, somewhere. He might come back one day.”
Dean blinked. “Keeley, you can’t really believe that. It’s been fourteen years.”
“You never know,” said Keeley stubbornly. “Stranger things have happened. People have been in comas for years and suddenly come out of them.”
“Your dad isn’t in a coma, Keeley,” he replied, frowning. “He’s incapacitated. Permanently incapacitated. Even with the marvels of modern medicine, you can’t reverse brain damage.”
But Keeley refused to look at him. “I’d better start typing up the saffron story,” she stiffly said. “While it’s still fresh in my brain. Thanks for the advice.”
She walked out of the office before he could say anything else and went to her desk. She sat down in the chair. After a minute, she took out her notebook and flicked through the pages, staring at her handwriting with disinterest. She should start writing up the Marr saffron article. The deadline was tomorrow so that it could make Monday’s edition. And even though she had been dismissive of it with Dean, she knew that it would make a good story. She liked the Marr’s and wished them every success with their new venture. It just wasn’t her type of story, that was all.
She loved journalism. But working on a small town paper was not exactly being at the cutting edge of it. She dreamed
of one day working at one of the prestigious Covenester newspapers, breaking exciting stories, although with what had been happening there recently she was starting to have second thoughts. In the meantime, anyway, she had to pay her dues here. After a year or two she should have enough experience to start applying to them.
She sighed, typing in her password on the computer. Her hand hovered over the mouse. Then she quickly opened her search engine, surreptitiously grabbing the book out of her bag. She had promised Dean that she would stop doing this here. But the article wouldn’t take that long to write up. There was time for another quick search.
But even as she did it, Keeley knew that she wouldn’t get any answers. She had already done this a thousand times before. Once again, she thought of Thad Morgan, swallowing down the disappointment that he hadn’t recognised the language. She had been so hopeful that he might unlock the mystery of it for her.
She frowned. His reaction to the book had been strange. Why had he been angry? He had thrown it down and refused to look at it again. Almost as if it disgusted him. Why would an old book have inspired such passion?
Keeley’s eyes narrowed as she stared at the computer. Thad Morgan understood more about the language than he was letting on, she just knew it.
***
Thad slowly parked the old Chevy truck in front of the Coyote River general store, getting out and gazing around. He could feel the day warming up already, even though it was barely past nine in the morning. He had been avoiding stocking up on supplies for the last few days but knew when he woke up this morning that it couldn’t be avoided any longer. There was barely a grain of rice left in the cabin pantry.
Coyote River was quiet at this time of day, as he knew it would be. His aim was to get in and out as quickly as possible. Talk to as few people as he could manage. The problem with the town was that everyone was so damn friendly, always wanting to stop and chat. In his former life, he would have been charmed by them, but not now.
He grabbed his cloth shopping bags out of the back of the car and walked towards the store. It was a hotchpotch kind of a building. He knew the original timber store had been built back when the town was founded, and there was still evidence of it. But it had been added onto over the years in a variety of styles so that now it resembled a hybrid that didn’t quite seem to have a clear identity.
His gaze wondered down the one main street. There was a tiny hairdresser, called Lucille’s, where all the local ladies had their permanent waves done. A tackle and bait shop, which he had never been into, since the general store sold bait. An ancient drug store that still had bottles of tonic on the shelves from the seventies, he wouldn’t wonder. Gina’s Café, which apparently made the best burgers in the district, which he had never sampled. And then there was the office of the Coyote River Magnet.
He stared at it for a moment, noticing the faded sign above the building. It was amazing in this day and age that the tiny newspaper was still going. But he supposed that the classifieds and advertising kept it running. The locals wanted to see who was born and who had died, who was selling what, and what events were coming up. It kept them connected, he guessed. He had grabbed a copy when he had first come here but had barely glanced at it and hadn’t bothered since. The world of Coyote River and its inhabitants, their concerns and news, held little interest for him.
He hovered for a moment on the pavement, still staring at it. Was she in there now, typing away on some article? He could almost picture her, a slight frown puckering her brow. Keeley Walters. Or perhaps she was out chasing a story for the next edition.
He shrugged. It was no concern of his, and it wouldn’t do to dwell on her or the evil book that she possessed.
He opened the door of the shop, blinking to accustom his eyes to the sudden darkness. He let out a slight sigh of relief. There was barely anyone in here. Dot, the old co-owner of the store, was behind the counter absorbed in a magazine and barely glanced up at him. She acknowledged him with a slight tilt of her head then settled back into reading the latest celebrity gossip.
He grabbed a shopping trolley and set to work, barely glancing at the cans as he threw them into it. He needed coffee, sugar and washing powder as well as food. As he whizzed down the aisles tipping items in, he could feel himself relaxing. He was almost done. He might just get out of here without speaking to a single soul beyond Dot.
He was almost ready to head to the counter and start unloading when the bell above the shop door clanged, and it swung open. He didn’t look up. He had discovered that if he avoided initial eye contact a lot of people simply didn’t seek him out.
He frowned, his hand hovering over a bottle of dishwashing liquid. He should probably get another one even though his current one back at the cabin was still a quarter full. It was still hard for him to judge how long things would last out in the wilderness. In the city everything was so close and open twenty-four hours he had gotten into the habit of buying almost daily.
Things were more expensive out here, too. He felt a pang of anxiety. His money would be getting low. Even though he was staying in the cabin rent free. The spectre of having to return to normal life shadowed him for a moment, before he put it out of his head.
Not yet. He didn’t need to worry about it just yet.
He felt a presence near him. He didn’t look up. Hopefully whoever had entered the store would simply pass him by if he didn’t look like he wanted to talk.
“That’s a good brand.” It was a female voice. “My mom uses that one all the time.”
He turned his head around slowly. He recognised the voice.
Yes. Damn. It was Keeley Walters, gazing at him with an expectant look on her face.
Chapter Four
Thad blinked rapidly, his heart plummeting. Of all the people who had to enter the store at this moment, it had to be her.
It had been a week since he had sent her away, claiming that he didn’t recognise the language in her book. A week in which she had slowly started to fade from his mind. But now, seeing her again, he felt a jolt of attraction. He had forgotten how good looking she was. Today she was wearing a yellow floral summer dress that complimented her light blue eyes and golden-streaked hair. And her smile was as wide and sunny as the weather.
He took a deep breath, forcing a smile onto his face. It was so hard to remember how to be sociable anymore.
Her eyes swept over his loaded trolley. “Looks like you’re stocking up for a long winter.”
He shrugged self-consciously. “I don’t get into town too often. Makes sense to get as much as I can when I do.”
Her smile widened. “You should get a few fresh vegetables. Living on cans can’t be too healthy.”
He frowned. Why was she examining the contents of his trolley? It was none of her goddamn business.
“I should go,” he said quickly. “It’s going to take a while to check this out.” He turned the trolley toward the counter.
“Wait.” She took a deep breath. “I wanted to say sorry. For dropping by unannounced the other day.”
He stilled, staring at her. “I’m not used to visitors.” He paused. “And I’m sorry I couldn’t help you with your book.”
She sighed, putting out a hand and leaning against his trolley. He stared down at her long, tapered fingers with immaculately manicured nails, painted in a pearly pink. Why did he have a sudden desire to place his own hand over hers, just to find out how soft her skin would be?
“That’s okay.” She sighed again, a bit dramatically. “I must admit I was pinning my last hopes on you. It’s such a mystery.”
He swallowed down a sudden pang of guilt. She really wanted to find out what that book said. But why? It couldn’t mean anything to her. And he knew from bitter experience that if he started probing into what it said, it could unleash something that would be better unknown. You couldn’t stuff the genie back into the bottle once you’d opened the lid.
Demons, he thought darkly. He had battled them for years, and yet
they still slithered through the city like the vermin they were. None of the cases they had all worked on over the years had ever defeated them for good. It had been more like chipping away at a giant monolith of stone that was fixed permanently in place.
If only he could have destroyed them for good just like they had destroyed the Wild Keepers.
His face darkened. It wasn’t his problem anymore. He had tried, and he had failed. Terribly.
“Yes, well.” His smile faded. “It was worth a try, wasn’t it? Good luck with it.”
He turned away from her determinedly, pushing the trolley to the counter and unloading the groceries. He could see out of the corner of his eye that she hadn’t moved. Why didn’t she just walk away and get what she wanted and leave him in peace?
He took a deep breath and turned to her. “If you are only getting one or two things it might be better if you grabbed them and went before me. I might be awhile, as you can see.”
Her eyes looked sad as she gazed at him, but she nodded her head. “I just came in for some sugar. We’ve run out at the office.” She quickly grabbed it off the shelf and went ahead of him, brushing past him awkwardly. He tried not to react to the feel of her shoulder against his bare arms, or the smell of her. Lemony.
Dot gazed at her. “Will I put it on the account, Keeley?”
She nodded her head. “Sure thing, Dot.” She took the bag of sugar and walked towards the door. Thad resolutely stared down at his groceries, trying to look absorbed in the containers of long life milk he held in his hands.
“See you later.” Her voice was soft. “Thad.”
He glanced up, seeing her silhouetted in the sunlight streaming through the glass on the door. “Yeah, sure. See you later, Keeley.”
Wild Keepers Page 99